


Christmas Witches

by DirtyCoffey



Series: 25 Days of Christmas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Witches, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyCoffey/pseuds/DirtyCoffey
Summary: There's a witch in upstate Illinois that's hexing Christmas wreaths. Sam and Dean roll into town to find out who's behind it and find their easiest hunt ever.





	Christmas Witches

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Jingle Bells  
> Song: Jingle Bell Boogie
> 
> Not 100% happy with this-but think of this as a slice-of-life/case fiction that includes my observation that a co-workers VW Beetle looks like a holiday decoration.

  
  
“Damn Sam, did you have to find us a hunt in upstate Illinois?” asks Dean as they step into the bar. Dean runs his hand over his head to remove the snow that accumulated in the short walk from the parking lot.  
  
“Yes, Dean, did this just to piss you off,” says Sam. “It’s a Christmas Witch, kinda make sense she’s active during, you know, Christmas,” smarts Sam as they make their way to the bar.  
  
The bartender approached them dressed head to toe like one of Santa’s elves. Including a ridiculous Santa hat with a jingle bell at the top.

  
“Hey there,” she said. Dean orders two beers on tap and can’t help but stare at the jingle bell earrings. “They don’t bother me,” she says placing the beers on the counter. Dean slides a ten across the bar. She pockets it before taking care of the forlorn Santa at the end of the bar.

  
“Forget the Christmas witch, this bar is being possessed by sad Christmas,” states Dean. They sip on their beers for a few minutes while a bluesy Christmas tune kicks in on the sound system.

  
“Oh hell no!” they hear from behind them. Sam and Dean turn to find a middle-aged woman staring at them. “Winchesters, right?” she asks. Sam and Dean don’t say a word.  


She sits down next to them and orders a whiskey. After downing the shot, she looks at them. Sam notices a pentagram necklace at her neck and takes a deep breath.

  
“Christmas Witch,” he says.

  
“Abigail works,” she replies downing another whiskey.

“Wait you’re the Christmas witch?” asks Dean.

  
“Kinda slow on the uptake, isn’t he?” asks Abigail as she takes the long neck beer in front of her.

  
“Hey, I’m not-”

  
“He’s not slow, you’re unexpected,” Sam says. “So why are you hexing wreaths and selling them?”

  
“Because Christmas sucks,” explains Abigail.

  
“Yes it does,” agrees Dean. Sam glares at him with Bitchface #77 (you are rude and making this so fucking hard for me).

  
“Five other bars in town and they are playing the happy Christmas music and are all decorated. This bar plays Christmas blues and the only lights are the beer can string lights. We’re all fucking done with this holiday and crappy families and crappy fake cheer,” says Abigail. She takes a long pull on her beer.

  
“But you can’t hex wreaths,” says Dean.

  
“The only hex is to kill their trees. Seriously, melted plastic trees for no reason are hilarious,” says Abigail. Then she looks over at the Winchesters. “Fine, I’ll remove the hexes and not do it again,” says Abigail.

  
Dean looks at Sam and Sam shrugs. “Collect the hex bags and we’ll burn them,” Dean says meeting her halfway. Abigail nods and taking a fresh long neck from the bartender wanders down to drunk Santa.

“Surely the case can’t be that easy?” asks Sam. Dean shrugs and goes back to his beer.

  
  
The next day, they get a call on the motel room phone. Dean picks up, says uh-huh a couple of times, and hangs up. “Our friendly Christmas witch. Says she’s got a floral shop on Main Street. We’re to meet her there as she’s got all the hex bags.”

  
Sam starts grabbing his bag and laptop as Dean grabs his bag and the weapons bag. They check out of the motel and make their way to Main Street. Dean pulls into an alley and parks next to a copper-colored VW Beetle. Sam starts snickering at Dean’s face. It looks like he got an especially sour lemon in his mouth and he can’t spit it out.

  
“Can it, Sam,” says Dean as he gets out of Baby. Sam snickers again but has to say the car looks like an oversized jingle bell. Abigail meets them at the back door with a basket of hex bags. “Is this all of them?” asks Dean.

  
“Yeah, it is.”

  
Dean upends the basket onto the pavement and bends over with Zippo in hand. The bags go up with a whoosh and the three stand there watching them burn out.

  
“You doing spells in the parking lot now?” asks a FedEx driver.

  
“Kinda,” says Abigail reaching out to sign for her delivery. The driver takes it back as he rolls a dolly with boxes on it to the back door. Abigail opens the door and lets him in. Sam and Dean follow them into the floral shop where the music is more Christmas blues.

  
After the FedEx driver leaves, Dean says to Abigail, “No more hexes.”

  
“No more hexes. I know I’m lucky you guys didn’t kill me or bind my powers or run me out of town,” says Abigail as she pulls herbs out of the box.

  
“Is this Amaranth,” asks Sam. Abigail looks at the label and nods. “How much for half of this?”

  
“Five dollars and my thanks,” says Abigail. Sam pulls out a ten and slides it across the counter.  


“Keep the change and your welcome.”

  
Abigail wraps the amaranth in a paper bag and hands it to Sam. The boys head for the back door as Abigail continues unboxing her delivery.

  
The back door slammed shut on the easiest case they’ve ever had to date. Dean can’t wait to head south, even though it wasn’t any warmer in Kansas than northern Illinois.  



End file.
